


Always

by snowpuppies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy discovers the side-effects of the spell in Chosen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

  


**Title** : Always  
 **Author** : [](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**snowpuppies**](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Fandom** : BtVS/Ats  
 **Character/Pairing** : Buffy/Illyria  
 **Genre** : Angst, AU  
 **Rating** : R  
 **Highlight for Warnings** : ** f/f sexiness, angst, mentions of character death**  
 **Disclaimer & Distribution**: Recognizable things aren't mine but the fic is. Please don't archive or distribute without asking.  
 **Summary** : Buffy discovers the side-effects of the spell in _Chosen_.  
 **Word Count** : 1,285  
 **x-posted to** : TBA

 **A/N** : for [](http://maharet83.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**maharet83**](http://maharet83.dreamwidth.org/) , who requested: " _Buffy/Illyria, so you want to be the end of the story_ "  
 **A/N2** : for my [](http://kinda-gay.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kinda_gay**](http://kinda-gay.dreamwidth.org/) [prompt table](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/292982.html), #03 - Magic

Beta'd by the great Gabrielledini!!

 

 

  
**Always**

 

She's seen it all.

Literally, now that she's just marked off the last name on her "places I never want to see, _ever_ " list (preceded, of course, by the "places I want to see before I die" and "places I don't care about whatsoever" lists—she'd gone through the former at least five times and the latter twice before beginning to work her way through the not-so-glamorous-or-noteworthy list).

It's too bad she didn't enjoy one moment.

Then again, it's hard to have fun when everyone you know (or don't know, or never thought about knowing) is gone.

Hell, she'd settle for a room full of people she hates right about now.

(Or even just a _room_.)

But there's nothing.

Nothing at all. Not a single human.

Well, except for her.

Immortality really sucks.

She isn't entirely sure when she began to notice she didn't age, but it was probably around the time that Willow discovered her first wrinkle, then multiplied when Xander began to develop that streak of grey right along his temple. She never really paid attention, but upon closer examination, she discovered she didn't look a day over twenty-five.

When she first brought up her concerns, Willow scowled and cursed her good genes and told her not to worry.

Ten years later—and not a sign of the fact that she was pushing fifty—Willow changed her mind.

Research turned into more research, followed by revealing spells and potions and furrowed brows and head-scratches and all kinds of un-helpful things. Eventually, the prevailing theory was that the Slayer spell Willow performed in Sunnydale set off a chain reaction that bonded the essence of the first Slayer to Buffy, _individually_ , and that her surprising longevity was the result, but no matter what the reason...

...she stayed the same.

And the world began to pass her by. She pretended it didn't bother her, just joked around and read the comics to Xander every Sunday when his eyesight went and brushed Willow's strawberry-grey hair when the arthritis got to be too much.

But when she had to watch her little sister gasp for breath as the cancer ate away at her brain...

...well, maybe she got a little apeshit at that point.

And when they were all gone, time seemed to accelerate, speeding by in a blur of technology, war and politics. Nations fell, countries disbanded, and at times, anarchy reigned.

She's seen it all, watched as humanity grew and changed and adapted...until they could adapt no longer.

And now she's all alone.

It's really, really boring.

 

On her better days, she can shrug off the cloud that dogs her footsteps, the voice in the back of her mind that asks why she bothers to move at all, why she continues her trek across, around, over and through the globe, why she doesn't just lay down and die.

Not that it's an option, of course. She'd gone that route about the time the first UN fell; the world was never the same, but there was Buffy Summers, perfectly fine and without a blemish, day after day after millennium, no matter what happened—what she had done (blood and screaming and falling and breaking)—the day before.

She still doesn't have any answers. Just the voices in her head, and if that makes her crazy, well, at least there's no one there to judge.

 

***

 

And then, someone is there.

 

"You remain, still."

"Yup. That's me, five zillion years and still remain-y." Hey, she may be older than dirt (well, running a close second) but she could still quip with the best of them (never mind that she's the _only_ of them).

"I was unaware of your continued existence."

"I missed the memo, too."

"You're the Slayer."

"Yeah. One and only again."

The woman nods. "Illyria, god-king of the cosmos once upon a time, and now...I exist."

"I get that." Vaguely, she thinks she should know Illyria, a fuzzy memory of a fuzzy memory—don't judge, she has a lot of memories now—suggests they met _before_ , but try as she might, she can't get the memory to focus.

She watches as Illyria cocks her head, blue eyes bright with intelligence, with understanding and confusion and _life_ —oh, god, _life_ —and something builds in her chest, and she's struck with the strangest urge.

She doesn't know whether she wants to punch Illyria or kiss her.

But she's done with talking—it's not like there are shoe sales to discuss, and it's been ages since she's had shoes to wear anyhow—and she launches herself across the space.

She hits _flesh_.

Living, breathing, real, live _flesh_.

Her fist sinks into Illyria's stomach; she's too shocked at the feel of yielding warmth to notice the foot arching toward her head. Falling to the ground, she grins. She's never been happier to be kicked in the face.

Licking the blood from her lips, she leaps forward.

They collide, tearing at each other, jagged nails scraping raw pink furrows into bare skin, purpling bruises forming as they grasp and pull and push, teeth sinking into blood and bone and sorrow, metallic blossoms against tongues, panting, gasping, and the world expands and narrows and history unravels, beginning to end, backwards and forwards and sideways, and they fall to the ground, limbs wrapped together, mouths finding each other.

She's being devoured; she's devouring.

She's _alive_ , electricity zinging under her skin as she ruts against Illyria's thigh, warmth and wetness dripping down her legs as Illyria grabs her, thumb slipping inside as she's flipped, possessive hand against her cunt, teeth sinking into her breasts, savagely tearing her apart as she keens, unashamed as her voice echoes across the land.

It's not so much public nudity when there's no public.

She wraps her fists with Illyria's tresses, reining her closer, farther, up and down and just where she _needs_ , toes curling, nails scratching along Illyria's calves as she convulses once...

twice...

Growling, she kicks out, sending Illyria sprawling.

"You will not win." Illyria's voice is even, betraying not the slightest hint of exertion.

"But I won't lose." Her grin is savage; she's covered in blood.

Illyria's eyes narrow.

Her muscles tighten as she prepares for the attack.

 

She's ready.

 

She'll always be ready.

 

***

 

Having Illyria there doesn't solve all her issues—she still pretty much wakes up to a new day wanting to scream her eyes out, but that's kinda normal at this point (and hey, at least she _sleeps_ ; she's pretty sure Illyria hasn't slept… _ever_ , and no, she doesn't want to know what the god-king does during the extra time, not at all).

They fight and then they have sex (and most of the time do both at the same time), and it doesn't make her think of a certain dark-headed Slayer, not at all (the Buffinator, Queen of Denial since that Egyptian chick kicked it a few millennia ago), but it is something to _do_ , and she's pretty much missed that more than anything. And if she secretly gets a kick out of Illyria's confused, blank stare when she starts a conversation about fashion or television or food, well, she's gotta get her kicks somewhere, right?

And some days, if she feels a little bit less-than-human, well, it's not like there's anyone left to compare to, except Illyria, of course, and that's a competition she'll win hands-down every time since she's actually, you know, a person.

It still sucks. She still thinks she'd give her right arm for a good barista and a pair of cute slingbacks, but overall, not being alone is vastly superior to the alternative.

It's enough that Illyria is _there_.

It's more than anyone else can offer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _FIN_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

****[Fic Masterlists](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/166663.html)****

 


End file.
